From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. No matter what happened, whether the road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always be carrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, the rack. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified.
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